


The Hunters

by the_punk_ghost_girl



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_punk_ghost_girl/pseuds/the_punk_ghost_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saturday, to most people, it means freedom. It means sleeping in late. It means hanging out with friends until the early morning hours.<br/>To five teenagers on this particular Saturday, it means detention.<br/>Five teenagers of different cliques, personalities, and family problems are pushed together into spending eight hours together to think about what they've done.</p><p>Basically a morden day Breakfast Club Alternative Universe. Hope you enjoy.~</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunters

Saturday,  
for popular kids it meant parties and consuming so much alcohol that it meant nearly crossing the line into poisoning. For the nerds it meant a break from staring at a book for ages as well as the possible video game play with companions. For the rebels it meant smoking cigarettes or marijuana out on someone’s porch with a few friends. For everyone, it meant sleeping in late. It meant hanging out with friends. It meant a little bit of freedom,  
except to five poor teenagers this particular Saturday morning.

The first car to pull up to the high school was a rundown silver 2001 modeled Honda. Once it came to a stop, there was no hesitation in the teenager’s bones as he hopped out of the car immediately not even bothering to stare longing as it drove away. The teenager was male. He had red hair twirled into a clump of messy curls on his head. Freckles dotted across the rounded cheeks of his face. His caramel-brown eyes helped to express that he simply did not give a flying fuck. He wore blue jeans that were ripped at the knees, a white shirt was tucked into them as well, over the white t-shirt he wore a red plaid flannel, and over the red plaid flannel he wore a jean jacket. The shoes on his feet were black converse, although it was more accurate to say that they were brown and black as the white parts were covered in filth.

The redheaded boy walked up the steps, wondering who’d be in detention with him this time.

The next car to pull up to the high school was a nice, too-white-to-even-really-be-white 2013 modeled Ford Fusion. Once it came to a stop, the conversation from Thursday when the teenager informed their own parents that they had detention was raised again.   
“This cannot happen again if you want to get a scholarship, they don’t give scholarships to troublemakers.”  
“I know, I know.”  
“Next time you fuck around, you just gotta make sure you won’t get caught.”  
“Yeah,”  
And with that the teenager pushed open the door, jumped out, and closed the door. Parent and offspring gaze were held for another moment before the apparent troublemaker turned their back and began walking towards the steps leading to the high school’s entrance. The teenager was also male. He had dark hair that was considerably short, his bangs only hanging down halfway on his forehead. He had dark eyes that were assisted in seeing by black plastic framed glasses. He wore dark blue jeans, a black long-sleeved t-shirt underneath his large blue and red lettermen, and black athletic shoes with grass stains on the bottom of them.

The black-haired boy walked up the steps, wondering who’d be in detention with him.

The next car to pull up was a sort of nice looking, red 2010 Dodge Charger. Once it came to a stop, the unpleasant conversation that hung in the air was finally spoken. The unpleasant conversation the teenager dreaded.  
“Now, is this the first or the last time this will be happening?”  
“Last,”  
“Good, now, get in there and use this time to your advantage.”  
“Mom, we’re not supposed to study, we’re just su-  
“Well, you find a way to study!”  
The teenager sighed as the door was opened and then closed as they stepped out of the car. They turned their back to their parent and heard as they walked towards the steps as the car drove away. The teenager was also another male. He had red hair as well, but it was lighter so perhaps one could call him a ginger. He had a rounded face without any blemishes or freckles, but a pair of glasses did sit upon his nose as they assisted his green eyes in seeing. He also was not the slimmest kid around, but certainly not the bustiest. He wore a navy blue long-sleeved t-shirt, his gray Quidditch Team Captain hoodie, blue jeans, and red converse.

The ginger-haired boy walked up the steps, wondering who’d be in detention with him.

The fourth car to pull up to the school was a well kempt, black 2009 modeled Hyundai Sonata. Once it came to a stop, there was a bit of hesitation in the teenager’s bones as they waited for their parent to say something to them about having detention and only telling them the night before. Yet, after a few minutes, there was still nothing said. Therefore the teenager inwardly sighed, opened the car door, and hopped out. They stood there for a moment before moving forward a bit to see if their parent still had anything to say, but the car was pushed into drive and it left. The teenager sighed as they walked towards the steps. The teenager was female. She had shoulder-length light pink-slowly-fading-into-light-brown again hair that fell into neat enough curls with bangs that fell down on her forehead until they reached her eyebrows. Her face was more slender, only really rounded around the chin area; she had high cheek bones. Freckles were scattered across her cheeks and she had on large, black-plastic framed glasses to help her dark brown eyes to see. She wore a black sweater with black leather patches at the elbows that hung off her thin figure, black skinny jeans that still managed to not fit her just right, and black converse.

The pink-haired girl walked up the steps, wondering who’d be in detention with her.

The last car to pull up to the school was the newest of them all; a white 2014 modeled Honda Accord. Once it came to a stop, there was a bit of hesitation in the teenager’s bones. Although only a look was exchanged between parent and child, a look of disappointment and knowing; the teenager pushed open the car door and walked out before closing it. This particular teenager was the only one to watch longingly as their car drove away. They stood in the empty parking lot for a moment before turning towards the building. The teenager shook their head as they examined the ever so familiar building. The teenager was male. He had light brunet hair that was cut neatly, long bangs that when put in front of his face covered his eyes were swept to the side. His facial structure was oval-like. His skin tone was tanned, an olive sort of color. His pair of hazel eyes could see perfectly. He wore a purple polo, a nice pair of blue jeans, and purple converse that looked as if they were new.

The brunet-haired boy walked up the steps, wondering who’d be in detention with him.  
He walked into the school building and followed the hallways and stairs until he reached the large library where detention was to be held. The door was wide open, and he walked through to find the four other people to accompany him in the silence for eight hours. There were six wooden tables set up, three in each row lined up vertically. There was no one in the back except for the vertical right row, where a girl with pink hair sat looking down at the floor it seemed. Both second tables were occupied on either row. In the first vertical row, there was a boy with messy red curls. In the second vertical row was a ginger-haired boy with glasses whom he did not recognize. The hazel-eyed boy chose it’d be best to just sit in the front table of the first vertical row, closest to the door. The person occupying the other seat at the table was who he recognized to be Ray Narvaez, the quarterback of their football team. He had spoken to the dark-haired boy before a few times and he seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. Therefore the hazel-eyed boy walked over to the seat next to him and sat down; the two turned to one another and exchanged mouthed hellos.

Soon enough, their principal, Mr. Sorola, a thirty-five year old man but in his eyes one could tell he felt much older than so, came into the room and stood before them with his arms crossed against his chest.

“Well, I at least want to congratulate you all on being on time.” he murmured sarcastically as his dark eyes scanned the room.

“Um, excuse me sir, I honestly think I’m not meant to be here. I mean, I know it’s detention and all, but… I don’t think I belong here.” The brunet-haired boy murmured in his English accent. Yet, Mr. Sorola did not pay attention to him.

“It is now 7:06; you now have eight hours and fifty-four minutes to think about what you did wrong. To help you become better people…I hope.” he stated as he began to walk, or pace rather, down the large space between the two rows.

“You will not talk, you will not move, and you – Mr. Sorola stopped for a moment at the table the redheaded boy was sat at, his feet were propped on the other chair beside him. – will _not_ fall asleep.” he hissed as he pulled out the chair from underneath the teenager’s feet, forcing him to sit up straight.

“Alright, we’re going to try something different today. We’re going to write an essay that contains a thousand words, and don’t think I won’t sit there and count each word of it, describing who you think you are. And when I say essay, I mean essay not one word repeated a thousand times. Is that clear, Mr. Jones?” the dark-haired man wondered, his gaze directed towards the redheaded boy.

“Clear as mud,” he muttered, biting down on his lip to keep from smirking. Mr. Sorola rolled his eyes.

“Good, you might learn something about yourself, and find out if you decide whether or not you care to return.” the principal acknowledged.

“Uh, I can answer that right now, sir, that would be a no.” the ginger-haired boy said from where he sat.

“Shut up, Pattillo.” Mr. Sorola growled as he glared with beady eyes at him.

“Yes sir,”

“My office is right across the hall; any messing around is not advised. Any questions?” he wondered as he began to head towards the door.

“Yes, uh, does Paul Gleason know you raided his closet?” Jones questioned, no longer being able to keep the smirk off his face.

“You’ll get the answer to that question, Jones, next Saturday.” Mr. Sorola replied before walking out of the library, leaving the five teenagers to begin their suffering.


End file.
